


It Might Not Be Love, But Maybe It'll Do For Now

by DixieDale



Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:54:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sometimes loneliness leads you to places you didn't intend to go, turning to people you might not have otherwise considered.  True, it might not be love, but maybe it would do for the moment.





	It Might Not Be Love, But Maybe It'll Do For Now

**Author's Note:**

> Not even intrepid UNCLE agents can always be dashing here and there, fighting the forces of evil. What is it like when the job is done and the reports finished and turned in? Maybe in those times they're not so different from the rest of us.

Oh, the recruiters laid it all out when they made their pitch, and for the most part they were upfront and transparent about the whole thing. And they were right - the life of an UNCLE agent was many things - dangerous, challenging, demanding, exciting, sometime glamorous, sometimes short-lived. 

The one thing no one mentioned during recruitment? It was also sometimes unbearably lonely. Especially with all the secrets you had to keep, things you couldn't discuss, absences you'd be hard pressed to try and explain, choices you had to make that sometimes ate away at your humanity, your very soul. All of that contributed to the loneliness. And sometimes the loneliness led you to places you didn't intend to go, turning to people you might not have otherwise considered. 

Oh, it didn't hit you when you were on a job, or at least, it had better not. No, on a job you needed to keep your entire focus ON the job. Your partner helped with that, provided you had a partner. In the office? Well, there might be stray moments, but for the most part you kept focused there too, on the training, the reports, even just on your co-workers around you.

And after hours? Well, if you had a partner, a good partnership, you naturally spent quite a bit of time together; that was part of what helped it all mesh together, after all.

As for the rest of the time, well, some alone time was healthy; helped you get your head on straight, spend time on the things OTHER than the job that were important to you. Reminded you there WERE other things that were important to you. 

And then there was the general repair and maintenance of life itself that required your attention. Even a minimalist had to get in groceries, balance the bank statement, open the mail, empty the dustbin, wash their hair, do a little laundry, just to avoid being swallowed by the detritus of life.

But even with all those hours accounted for, there were times when the loneliness set in. Times when you just didn't want to go home to an empty flat, have dinner by yourself, find yourself staring at a tv screen without any idea of what you were seeing. Times when the very thought of walking into a restaurant, a nightclub or a bar alone just made you cringe.

Those were the unsettling times, times when you could easily make a misstep, do something stupid. Times when you'd tighten your jaw, briskly tell yourself, "so it might not be love, but maybe it'll do for now. Maybe just for tonight, it'll do." 

Well, maybe sometimes it would. And maybe, sometimes, it wouldn't.

 

Mark -   
The very discreet note had made him smile, just a little secret smile. Theodora O'Hare, the Lady with the Hats. He supposed he'd come in for as much flak as Napoleon got over Angelique if anyone knew, but as far as he could tell, no one did, and except for that first time, it wasn't connected to a job, didn't interfere with his responsibilities or his loyalties.

Well, yes, April knew about that time in Milan - Lord, she'd walked in on them and hadn't THAT been a pleasant scene! - but not about the other times since. At least he hoped so. He was sure she wouldn't be pleased, with Theodora or with him. 

Still, when Theodora showed up, he made time out of what he laughingly called 'my busy social calendar' to be with her. How could he have explained the appeal without sounding like a totally naive fool, or a self-destructive one, perhaps? Theodora wasn't Thrush, or KAOS, or affiliated with any of their opposition, but still, there was no question she was rarely on the side of the angels. 

But the first time she'd shown up in New York after their first intimate encounter in Milan, he'd just had that falling out with Raoul and needed something, someone to take his mind off his troubles. 

Well, he could hardly have burdened his partner. April was always understanding, was a good listener, but she often insisted he 'talk it out', and he just couldn't imagine telling her about that stormy, if exceedingly brief, liaison with the dashing Raoul. If nothing else, he didn't want to admit just how much of a fool he'd been, not realizing the trap until he'd been on the verge of stepping squarely into the awaiting jaws. It hadn't been any easier with the lovely Delilah, a few months ago; he hadn't gone to April then either, though that had been more run of the mill embarrassing. 

Laughing together about dates gone wrong, about wildly inaccurate first impressions, about the one who got away or the one who wouldn't GO away, that was fine, and they'd commiserated with each other on several occasions. But the sheer 'Oh God I am SUCH a bloody idiot!' ones, the ones he'd probably be wincing over when he was ninety, no, those he didn't feel right mucking up her mind with. Let him preserve at least a little dignity, please!

Theodora had answered the bill beautifully, the older but ripe, sensuous and definitely enticing woman fulfilling the need for warmth and laughter and closeness and passion without feeling the need for baring his soul, or heaven forbid, having his motives misunderstood for something far more serious. With her he could maintain a sensible caution and yet experience a sense of playful indulgence and sexuality that he had regretfully set aside when he'd started to grapple with the more serious endeavors of life, ie. his career with UNCLE.

Still, Theodora had seemed to understand quite a bit more than he'd thought he was revealing, and had issued some gentle advice along with everything else after the Raoul episode. He would have called it 'motherly advice', except for the heated memories of those twelve hours in her hotel suite. No, there was nothing in the least bit motherly about those memories.

Her next visit had been during one of the up times, and it was more in the line of chilled champagne and juicy ripe strawberries dipped in powdered sugar, them getting that strawberry juice and white dusted trails all over the silk sheets, and her telling him some highly amusing stories of her past. Nothing too incriminating, of course, nothing he might have felt the obligation to actually DO anything about. While he hadn't shared any stories in return, a sensible caution still guiding him, their time together had been remarkably satisfying on both sides, if leaving him with the feeling that he'd put in a couple of long days in the gym and on the track. Theodora did have an astonishing amount of energy, and an equally astonishing desire to exercise that energy. Enthusiasm, that was the word that increasingly came to mind when he thought about her; Theodora was a font of boundless enthusiasm, as he'd once heard April describe an old acquaintance she'd called Andrew.

Now, this time? He and April were back from a lengthy jaunt to Peru. They'd had their celebratory dinner at Venara's, gone to a dance club the next evening. He'd been going to see if she wanted to attend that new exhibit opening at the Met, but after that psych debriefing with the new-arrived Dr. Vendeeim, he'd hesitated. Vandeeim had been a field agent before he turned his full attention to the couch side of the business; had a few insightful thoughts on the subject of partners and partnerships.

And after reviewing their files, Mark's and April's, after hearing about the last assignment, asking a few pertinent questions about their off-hours, Dr. Vendeeim had made a few gentle points to Mark about monopolizing one's partner, perhaps imposing on the other's good will. 

"After all, we all need our own space, but for partners, it's just harder to gracefully decline, you know. You just never know when you've crossed a line better left uncrossed," the avuncular Dr. Vendeeim had offered with a warm and understanding smile.

That made Mark rethink, feel a little guilty about seeking April's presence for a third night. 

He considered that note from Theodora to have arrived in the nick of time. He wouldn't be alone, which he really wasn't in the mood for anyway, and he wouldn't be imposing on April. And no matter what his mood, time with Theodora was always well-spent. She had no expectations beyond the two of them thoroughly enjoying themselves and each other.

He again thought uneasily about what April would say and think, never mind Waverly, and then firmly put that out of his mind. Perhaps it would be champagne and strawberries again.

Actually the first night it WAS champagne and strawberries; the second night was kirsch and tiny pancakes, complete with tangy syrup with dollups of whipped cream that was intended, supposedly, for the pancakes. Well, what do chefs know anyway?

So, no, it wasn't love, but neither of them expected it to be. There WAS a mutual affection, and for now, it was enough.

 

April - 

"I'll see you tomorrow, April. Have a good night," and Mark was once again off and gone, for the second evening in a row, too quickly for her to inquire of his plans. If she had intended to. Which she didn't; he hardly owed her an explanation. They didn't live in each other's pockets, after all; each had their own interests, their own casual friends. Perhaps even some not-so-casual friends, though if so, those were on Mark's side. She'd seen him with others where that seemed it might be the case, a pretty brown-haired woman with a bright smile a couple of times, a laughing Latino man with smouldering good looks on occasion. Those had been accidental spottings, just coincidence, and she hadn't gone closer, not close enough to be seen and perhaps motioned forward to be introduced. The vibrations just didn't seem right for that.

April had ruefully noted more than once that her own list of not-so-casual didn't really include what she would call 'men friends', just a stalker or two, and the few men she'd casually dated, and the one or two men she'd had brief flings with. She winced a little now, thinking of the entries in the first and last categories. The casually dating group, well, those were innocuous enough, painfully forgettable, and the stalkers really weren't her fault, and while getting rid of them had taken some effort, there had certainly been no regrets as she saw the last of them. 

But she couldn't say the same about the flings. There she had regrets. Not about the ending, but about even getting involved in the first place. Nice enough men, really, but she could only account for her letting them get that close, physically anyway, to a very embarrassing desperation on her part - times when loneliness closed in and any sort of connection seemed better than none.

She determined not to get caught up in that cycle again, to find another avenue to beat back the encroaching darkness. Of course, she'd told herself that after Jack, and later Michael, and oh yes, there had been Jeff. She berated herself for her weakness, and firmed her chin. This time would be different - no matter that Mandy Stevenson had left to join Control and wasn't there to pal around with, no matter that her partner had found other things to do than keep her company. This time, she wasn't going to succumb to any welcoming smiles, wasn't going to end up in someone's bed where she'd be cringing at herself when she looked in the mirror in the morning. 

She stared into the mirror now, firming her chin, making an equally firm resolution. She was an independent woman, and it was high time she took herself in hand and looked after her own needs without depending on others. Hearing her voice saying that out loud made her snicker and flush, then laugh out loud. 

"Perhaps there was a better way to phrase that, April. All in all, though, not a bad plan. I think maybe we'll start with going out to dinner, me, myself and I, and enjoying every damned minute of it!" 

'Me' wasn't sure 'myself' or 'I' had been listening, were in agreement, but hopefully those stubborn two would get with the program.

Thinking over her choices, ruling out Venara's and any other place she was accustomed to going with Mark, or with Napoleon and Illya, or even with Mandy, she decided 'The Snowy Swan' would be ideal. She'd heard good things about the place and she hadn't been yet; it was considered more a ladies establishment, not someplace she'd run into myriad dating couples or any drunken Casanova thinking she was his dessert for the night. 

Taking as much care with her appearance as if she had been meeting someone, she smoothed her hair into place and set off, resisting the sullen urging from 'myself' and 'I' who were voting for a quiet drink, some cheese and crackers, and some music on the record player, followed by an early bedtime.

April looked up from her plate at the blonde woman standing there casting a shadow over her table. Shocked to see Angelique smiling down at her, she took a quick glance around to see if she could spot any other Thrush operatives in the area. At the same time, she used one hand to unclip the clasp of her purse, making sure her gun was at hand, her communicator ready to sound an alarm.

A soft chuckle, quite attractive, floated down to her.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Dancer. I am alone and not here on business. May I sit?" though she didn't hesitate before drawing out a chair and doing exactly that.

However April had expected that first true meeting with the notorious Angelique to go, this hadn't been it. The Thrush agent was charming, highly intelligent, with a ready conversation on almost any topic you could think of. She could now understood the woman's allure, how Napoleon Solo could let himself be seduced, again and again, even knowing how dangerous she was.

In fact, April herself was having more and more difficulty keeping her guard up. It was so easy to be drawn in by that soft voice, that smile that begged 'come, share the amusement with me'. She listened now as Angelique bemoaned how difficult it was to be a woman in their line of work. 

"The men, the ones in the business, they either look down on you, or resent you, or fear you. If you find one you think you can see perhaps a measure of common understanding with, you are invariably proven wrong. The ones outside? How can there be anything there when you must hide away who you are, how you spend your hours? It is often quite lonely, is it not? And the women? They are no more welcoming, not if you are truly good at your job. They resent you for being what they are not, resent the men for looking at you instead of them. In either case, when they offer friendship, you know you must look for the barb, the poisoned thorn."

April found herself asking, "but you and Napoleon? That is easier?" 

Well, she often wondered why, from Angelique's side. From Napoleon's, she'd always put that down to an overdose of testosterone flooding and temporarily dislodging his brain cells. But for Angelique? What was the appeal, other than the man's rather obvious charm and good looks?

Angelique laughed a low, sensuous laugh. "Ah, dear Napoleon. With him you KNOW you must be on guard. You know he trusts you every bit as much as you trust him, and there is a certain comfort in that. That is appealing, you know, that level of honesty. There is little pretense." 

The woman only hoped that the utter falseness of that last sentence didn't fall into the open air and turn bright purple with shame; how on earth she'd managed to even say the words without laughing she wasn't sure. Little pretense? Half of what the handsome fool thought happened during their heated hours together was a drug-induced hallucination. Bless grandmother's array of potions, ever so helpful they were! 

Right now she was trying to get her hand close enough to the young UNCLE agent's glass to drop in just a touch of one of those potions. She had a different one under the tip of her right index finger, but would prefer the first one to be in pretty little Miss Dancer's bloodstream before relying on that one. The combination was a potent one, and if things worked out well, the redhead would be discovering just what Angelique's allure truly was. And, at least for this first time, it might all actually be real, not imagined. She WAS a tempting sight, and Angelique had felt a certain anticipation when she'd first spotted her this evening.

April sipped at her glass, considering all Angelique had said, finding herself relaxing, enjoying this evening far more than she'd thought she would. {"And with such a dinner companion! Mark will never believe this!"}

Somehow the thought of her partner and his reaction made her blink, glance at her tablemate appraisingly. But then, a fast shrug, {"well, I can't say I'm all that impressed with HIS choice for a companion this evening either!"}. She was uncomfortably aware that her inner voice sounded a little like a pouting child. 

Still, to be talked to as a competent adult, a sensible and attractive woman, by another competent, sensible and attractive woman, that was a good, even satisfying feeling. For Angelique was right, both about how the men in the business viewed her, and by extension April, and how the women did as well. Except for Mandy Stevenson, April had female acquaintances within UNCLE but none she would call a friend. There was just a welcome commonality that gave this dinner a cozy, almost intimate atmosphere.

It was then that her charm bracelet somehow got caught on the tablecloth, and in freeing it, it managed to give her a sharp pinch, close to drawing blood. She frowned down at it, puzzled; that had never happened before, and now, looking closely at the bracelet itself, the several small charms, she couldn't even see how it had happened this time. For the first time in almost an hour, her attention was not on Angelique and their conversation, and that felt, well, odd, somehow.

Angelique reached out one beautifully-manicured hand. "What an unusual bracelet! May I see . . ." and then an undignified yelp came from the NEVER undignified Frenchwoman. "I think I got a shock! Whatever would have caused that??!"

April looked into those lovely blue eyes and saw a scorpion resting behind the pupils, tail poised and waving, preparing to strike, and quickly snatched back her hand, pulling it and the bracelet out of the Thrush agent's reach.

"I'm so sorry; I must have been rubbing it against the tablecloth accidentally and built up some static electricity." April rubbed her wrist which was still aching from the reflected shock.

The tiny voice, disapproving, scolding, still echoed in her mind, having been delivered right along with that shock. {"Seduction, child, seduction. The spider is trying to seduce you! Gather your wits about you before she gathers YOU up into a basket and takes you home for a late night snack!"}. 

Glancing down, April could even seem to pinpoint which charm belonged to that voice, a red wolf with glowing amber eyes, white teeth bared now in a snarl. 

{"Funny, I don't remember the wolf charm to be snarling before. And the charms are all bronze; there was never any color before, except for the jewel chips!"}

Pleading an early morning, and phone calls she'd promised to make before the night was over, April graciously but quickly excused herself, laid money on the table for the bill, and left. She kept a close lookout to be sure she wasn't being followed, and that there were no enemies waiting for her outside, but her way home was clear. A quick call on her communicator alerted the office that Angelique had been spotted in the vicinity, and then she settled in to think over the events of the evening.

Truthfully, Angelique was too stunned to take any further action, at least not then. She'd not been faced with failure in a very long time, at least not from an inexperienced adversary. This should have been easy; the morning should have seen April Dancer awakening in Angelique's silken sheets, smiling and replete and happy. Oh, and very anxious for the next encounter, whenever Angelique beckoned. 

She was more than happy that she'd not mentioned to anyone that she was making this approach. How embarrassing! And more than likely the annoying little chit would tell her partner about this, maybe even Napoleon and HIS irritating shadow! Together they'd probably make it much harder for Angelique to get another chance to have another tendril into the workings of UNCLE New York. How disappointing, especially since after the Cooperstown fiasco Napoleon had decided to finally get a backbone and reject her overtures. {"I will have to talk to ma mere; surely I'm not losing my touch!"}

 

Illya - 

He'd been taking too much for granted, perhaps. Since Cooperstown, Napoleon had seemed to have sworn off Angelique, and Illya had hoped that wariness would extend past the lovely but deadly Thrush agent to others of the predatory female persuasion. And it seemed to be so, at least to a moderate extent. The senior agent was more focused in the field, still charming to the ladies but no longer quite so easily led astray. They were spending more time together, though that wasn't uncommon really, just an increase in both the number of interactions and the quality of the comradeship. 

Take this past month, for example. Dinner for Illya and his partner at Venara's, along with Mark and April. Then an evening of drinks and music at the jazz club Illya liked and sometimes performed at. A quiet evening of just talking at Illya's apartment, not ending til long after it should have, considering they had to be at the office in the morning. Shared lunches, shared amusement at the fashions pacing along the city streets.

He had become complacent, that was it; had left his suggestion for the evening til too late in the day. Waited too long, giving the beautiful and shapely Gretchen time to stick her head in the door and remind Napoleon that he owed her 'dinner and dancing, that WAS what you promised, wasn't it?" 

Illya waited for Napoleon to bow out gracefully, but that didn't happen, his partner smiling that charming smile and agreeing that that sounded delightful and would pick her up at eight. If Napoleon noticed that Illya was a little more curt the last hour, well, he hadn't said anything.

Thinking about his plans for the evening, Illya mentally wadded them up into a ball and threw them into the wastecan along side his desk. But frankly, nothing else appealed, and he knew quite well the condition of his fridge, enough to know there was no satisfying meal waiting there. Gloomily wondering if there was enough vodka to substitute for a meal, he looked up as a voice came from the doorway.

"I was checking to see if you and Napoleon had plans for tonight, or if you might like to join me for dinner. I'm finding myself at loose ends. And I have something I'd like to discuss with you both, ask you, really." 

Ten minutes later it was settled; he'd pick her up at eight, and they would have dinner, just the two of them. Dinner, a little discussion, perhaps some dancing. Yes, they might both find that enjoyable.

**

The silence wasn't exactly unpleasant, more just slightly uncomfortable, as if one had made a misstep during the dancing and trod on an unsuspecting toe.

Then a rueful laugh from her, softly into the warm darkness. 

"This isn't going to work, is it?"

And his snort of equal amusement. "No, obviously not. Still, it was worth trying. And it would have been nice." 

And she had to agree, on all accounts. But Illya was what he was, a friend, a fellow agent. A friend - but there was no spark of anything more, even something transitory, on either of their parts. And truthfully she wasnt sure transitory would have been enough, even for one night of shared warmth, not with the probably awkward aftermath.

"Should I apologize?" She really felt she should ask, since she was the one who invited him out in the first place.

"For what? The dinner and drinks and dancing were most enjoyable. There is nothing shameful in having that be the extent of it. And I needed someone close tonight, just as you did." 

Well, he did, after watching Gretchen claim Napoleon with such a proprietary air about her. They hadn't made specific plans, but Illya had just been on the verse of suggesting dinner and maybe a visit to that jazz club he liked so much. Maybe even one of those abominable cigar clubs Napoleon had started frequenting if his partner hadn't been in the mood for music. But then the tall brunette had come in, with her smiles and reminder of 'a rain check from last month, remember?' and Napoleon was gone, just a quick "see you tomorrow" drifting back to him. 

April had come in shortly thereafter, caught him hammering away at his typewriter as if it were an enemy he was bent on conquering at any cost, and after inquiring after Napoleon and hearing the story, suggested she and Illya have dinner, maybe visit that club together. 

When he'd asked about Mark, whether he would be coming to, April had gotten an odd look, had flushed. 

"He had plans. An old 'acquaintance' is in town." 

That note had been placed on HER desk, rather than Mark's, whether by human error or human interference she didn't know, but she could read between the lines well enough to know who had sent it. She hadn't said a word, just slid it over to Mark's desk for him to find when he got back from Translation, and got back to the report she was working on.

Whoever that was, obviously April wasn't pleased, and just as obviously didn't really want to spend the evening alone. Illya had not thought in her direction, not really. Not that she wasn't quite attractive, not that he hadn't grown to like her, to consider her a friend. It was just that . . . Well, he just never had. 

Now, remembering the sight of Napoleon and Gretchen walking off, arm in arm, Napoleon intent on charming her, it seemed like an evening with April just might be what he needed. Maybe, if she'd thought to ask him out to dinner, perhaps he was what she needed as well.

So, no, he wasn't, and no, she wasn't, but at least they had made an effort. He lay back, waiting politely til she had finished dressing before he did the same. The drive back to her apartment was one filled with quiet conversation, much as what would have ensued before the night had started. They shared critiques of a certain female Thrush agent, both promising to let their partners know about that very odd dinner, and parted company at her door, still friends, and both of them surprisingly content with that.

 

Napoleon - 

He'd promised her dinner last month, before he and Illya had to leave so suddenly. Somehow approaching her for a make-up dinner hadn't crossed his mind, and he would have found some excuse this time if he hadn't come from that interview with new Dr. Vandeeim, who talked about how, while partners certainly needed together time to keep the bonds and lines of communication strong, they also needed time apart. That otherwise it was unhealthy; one became too invested in the other, and that would prove detrimental over time. 

Well, he and Illya HAD been spending a lot of their free time together, and while Napoleon was finding it quite agreeable, now he was wondering if maybe he was pushing it a little. Sure, sometimes Illya would issue the invitation, make the suggestion for an evening's entertainment, a short excursion, but just as often it had been Napoleon. He'd even started taking quite a bit of enjoyment, ferretting out new places and activities he thought his partner might enjoy. Maybe he WAS taking advantage; Dr. Vandeeim had gently suggested that might be the case.

So, instead of asking if Illya wanted to try that new Thai restaurant that had just opened up, he had smiled and agreed that an evening with the lovely Gretchen was just what he'd been looking forward to.

And it hadn't been bad; she was attractive, an excellent dancer, though a somewhat limited conversationalist. Or maybe it was just that, like with almost everyone except his partner, or perhaps Mark and April and a few other agents he'd know for awile, there were just so many things off the table for discussion. She'd teasingly asked about where he'd been when he'd had to break their date. Well, he could hardly tell her that, or about the Thrush plot, or about the double he and his partner had detected and barely prevented from assassinating a foreign prime minister. Any number of conversational pathways held unexpected roadblocks or even landmines and it made for a very uneven give-and-take.

Things had gone better once he'd seen her home. She was warm and willing and was obviously happy he had joined her in a continuation of the evening. Still, when she'd sighed, smiled and drifted off to sleep across his sweaty chest, he lay there, staring into the darkness, thinking that there really should be more. He wasn't sure what, but there should just be MORE. 

In the dim light of morning, already dressed and ready to walk out the door, he'd dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead, getting a tiny frown as she wriggled in her sleep. 

"Not now; I'm too sleepy!" She murmured a name, and while he couldn't quite make it out, he wasn't all that sure it was his.

He was in his car and driving away before a reluctant laugh broke out. 

"Maybe she thinks there should be more too?" 

But then his ego moved to the forefront, soothing him once again.

"Well, why should she, Napoleon my boy? It might not have been love, on either part, but in the meantime, it'll do."

 

It was an unusually quiet morning in the office of Solo/Kuryakin, as well as the office of Slate/Dancer. Somehow there seemed to be little to say, and the words coming reluctantly, with difficulty, for the things that did need to be said.

It took a quiet dinner at Venara's that night, the four of them, and some honest conversation, to put things somewhat to right. It was decided that, one, Dr. Vandeeim didn't have a clue and should be ignored at all costs, and two, Angelique WAS a spider and all four of them would be especially careful around her. 

Gretchen's name wasn't mentioned, Illya and April's aborted experiment as if it had never happened, and as for Theodora O'Hare? Not a whisper concerning the illustrious Lady with the Hats. Some things were just too difficult to explain, at least for now.


End file.
